


Incompatible

by Zaniida



Series: POI Response Fics [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Additional Topics in End Note (in case you need them), Demiromantic!Harold, Demisexual!Harold, Emotional Support, Harold's Past, Heteromantic!John, M/M, Monologue, Negotiations and Compromise, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not When Anyone's Watching, Platonic Cuddling, Pragmatic Decisions, Season 1 or 2, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual vs. Romantic Orientation, Social Attitudes Toward Perceived Homosexuality, Uncomfortable Being Viewed That Way, Unrequited Lust, bisexual!John, elbows-friendly, hope the dang tags stay in the right order this time, why Harold doesn't like to be touched, why John finds it hard to move on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida
Summary: Harold can't put off dealing with it any more: He knows John wants his body, and yet he equally knows they're fundamentally incompatible.  So one night he lays out all the factors he's been considering, and waits for John's reaction.





	Incompatible

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually think this is John's canon orientation. It just fit the concept better.  
>  _Again, many thanks to my beta reader, AreiaCananaid._
> 
> Primary content warnings have been left in the tags list; for those who need more specific warnings, check the notes at the end of this chapter. Hope that system works out; if not, please let me know and I'll adjust my technique again to compensate ^_^

I realize, Mr. Reese, that once I have broached this subject you will likely have a lot to say about it. But the matter I must raise is… complicated, and talking about it is not particularly easy for me. So I must ask that you refrain from interrupting. As I’ve said, I’m a very private person, and, as I’m breaking pattern, I think this will be easiest if I just get it all off my chest at once.

Most of my life, I’ve… hidden… from a lot of things that I should have dealt with instead. I’ve tried to ignore, and push aside, even cheat my way around problems. For a while, I thought I could handle this problem in a similar way. But, by this point, it’s clear that avoiding the issue is putting us both at risk. And with what we do, that’s quite unacceptable.

The past few months, Mr. Reese, I have become increasingly aware of your interest in my body. To be frank, I’m not entirely comfortable having you look at me that way. I don’t tend to think of myself as a… a sexual creature, let alone the focus of someone’s sexual desire, so being viewed in that light has been… unsettling.

Please, Mr. Reese, I’m hardly finished.

When I told you that I knew exactly everything about you, I meant, of course, those details of your life that can be written down. Matters of public record... or, well, hidden on private servers, but… the point is, by the time I extended to you the offer of joining my crusade, I knew what sort of man you were. I understood, as much as anyone could, the variety of skeletons in your walk-in closet.

But there’s only so much I can glean from records; at some point I had to read between the lines -- form an impression of your character from what was _not_ written down. And while I never specifically focused on your sexuality, I… did get some idea of it.

It’s hardly my place to label you, Mr. Reese. But perhaps you’ll forgive me indulging in a little… speculation, given that it bears on the decision we have to make.

In all the data I’ve accumulated on you, there has been precisely nothing to indicate that you find gender to be a barrier to a sexual relationship. Quite the opposite, in fact, even as far back as some colorful incidents from your teenage years. You don’t seem particularly inclined to disguise this, either, if your interactions with our good Detective Fusco are any indication.

I’ve equally picked up on the idea that you do not accept casual flings. I’ve… worked with more than one associate who would… hop into bed with any pretty girl they could get. Sometimes with far less adherence to ethics than I found comfortable. If you were like that, Mr. Reese, I think I would have noticed; you’ve certainly had opportunities. To be honest, at some point I’d anticipated you… hooking up with Ms. Morgan.

Yes, well, more proof that I’m not so good at reading people. Which is why I endeavored to understand you from the paper trail. Not that many relationships over the years, each one lasting no less than eight months. What’s more, even as far back as high school I can’t find any hint that you’ve ever been unfaithful, and nothing of you sleeping around when you’re not in a steady relationship. Unless I miss my guess, you choose to remain... celibate. And the time between relationships, even at the low end, is well over half a year: You don’t rush to find someone new.

From that much, I concluded that you find it difficult to just break it off and move on, even when it would be easier on you. I don’t mean to imply that I judge you for that. Hooking up for short-term pleasure has never made much sense to me, nor indeed the mindset that lets people easily toss aside what once they loved.

However, it’s one of the many reasons I assumed that we would never be having this conversation. Even if you were interested -- even if _I_ were interested -- it seemed foolish to even _contemplate_ getting into a relationship. Our work is too important to risk disrupting with interpersonal problems. All the more if we’d be opening a door we couldn’t easily close again.

That’s not the only factor, of course. When I was considering the… possibility of a relationship between you and me, I… concluded that we were fundamentally incompatible.

Again, I’m… guessing from scant data. But it seems your relationships with men, however intimate in the bedroom or barracks, are… just that. The intimacy doesn’t seem to carry on outside. That isn’t characteristic of your relationships with women. Well, at least up until Kara, and I’m not surprised you held some distance from _her_. It seems that you fit easily into intimate relationships with women, but not so easily with men. Whether that’s a hard limit or a soft one, I… yes, you don’t seem surprised by the idea.

The problem is, _I_ can’t… I mean, I’m a… well.

You know, Mr. Reese, humans love to classify things, to… make distinctions, and point out similarities. We’re quite good at it, when we’re not trying to pretend that certain categories don’t exist. And I appreciate labels, because they clarify thought. So I do _know_ the terms that best apply to my preferences, but… let’s do without them for the moment.

... Please understand that I would not be telling you all this if I could see a way around it. It just doesn’t seem possible to be fair to you without giving you an idea of all the factors I’ve been considering.

Throughout my early life, I felt this… gnawing, like an emptiness inside me, a hunger that wouldn’t go away. In retrospect, it didn’t help that I lived in a very small town -- yes, you can pencil that into your growing list of Facts About Finch -- so there weren’t many friends to choose from, much less… partners. And I thought I was doing fine on my own. The people I interacted with seemed… pointless. The ones that weren’t actively trying to make each other miserable were still shallow. Not worth putting my time into, not worth… exploring. I thought people _in general_ were boring; the only reason I had any friends at all was so that I could show off my skills.

Data was much more interesting, and I focused on it to the exclusion of everything else. I only started bothering to get good grades when I realized bad grades would interfere with going to college. I figured that the hunger gnawing at me was just a yearning for greater _experiences_ , for greater _challenges_ than a small town could provide.

That impression of people as fundamentally _not worth my time_ stuck with me until university, the day I met Nathan. Getting close to him was like… like finding water in the desert. No, more like… suddenly realizing that the land you’ve grown up in _is_ a desert, and because you never had anything to compare it to, you had never even understood yourself to be thirsty. Realizing this because you’ve stepped out of the desert for the first time, into an oasis you didn’t know existed, and that, for all its flaws, you never want to leave again.

Having tasted that connection, I found that I craved it, beyond any rational measure. For months I focused on trying to suss out what Nathan wanted from me, from our friendship -- how I could please him. I was terrified that I’d screw up and he wouldn’t want me anymore, or that I’d do everything I could and he’d still get tired of me and move on.

I didn’t even realize how deep-seated this fear was until one evening, at his house… not quite a decade after we’d met. Those years had been some of the best in my life. Nathan had drawn me into his circle of friends, and made sure I felt welcome, that the others appreciated me. While I was focused almost entirely on him, he spent _years_ working around my lack of social skills to solidify my position within the group, and, at the time, I didn’t even realize what he was doing. I would have been mystified if I had.

But that night, after the others had gone home and I was just packing up to leave, he sat down on the arm of the couch and said, rather abruptly, “Harold, could you stay a moment? We need to talk.”

Those words were so… innocent. But to me, they felt like a death knell. I knew, without any doubt I _knew_ , that Nathan was about to tell me that I didn’t _fit_ with his little group of friends. That I had never fit in, that he’d been humoring me, that they’d put up with me as long as they could and that I couldn’t come back anymore. That he was done with me.

It felt like something I’d been expecting for a long time. I’m sure I was trembling as I took a seat by him, there on the couch, ready to accept his judgment. And then, he started telling me about this new business opportunity, one that he was hoping I’d join in on. Because, he said, I was his closest friend, and the one he trusted and valued more than any other, so he wanted to offer it to me first.

That one conversation turned my world upside down. It was… a revelation. How could I have so misjudged his interest in me, thinking he was throwing me out when he was hoping to bring me in closer? How could I have missed that out of all his friends, the one he felt the most connection to was me? If I have any self-esteem that isn’t based on my technical competence or my personal integrity, it was created in that room, that night.

That’s how much he meant to me, how intimate we had become, almost without me noticing it. I don’t mean sex. Nathan had his sexual conquests, and they made me nervous because I knew that if he ever asked it of me, I would give him that. But he never wanted it.

We were intimate of mind and emotion and, to the extent that he would allow it, of bodies. He told me early on that we had to keep that part of our relationship private -- act differently when his friends were around. Nathan understood, long before I understood, how easily people pigeonhole you, and he couldn’t risk the fallout… not in his line of work. Others might have expected me to pick up on the social cues, but Nathan knew me well enough to come straight out and _explain_ them, not just what but _why_ , so that I could perceive the boundaries.

But when it was just the two of us, I could sit next to him and rest against his shoulder, cuddle with him under a blanket while we watched movies together. He’d nuzzle my cheek or card his fingers through my hair. When we were stymied by the latest odd behavior from the Machine, I’d rest my head on his thigh and gaze up at his face and we’d work through the problems we were seeing. And I craved that touch like a plant craves sunlight and water.

I can do without it, of course I can, I’ve done that for most of my life, but… having tasted it, I know how much it means to me when I’ve got it. I had it with Nathan, for a good long while. I had it with Grace. The kind of bond that let me touch them and be touched by them, not just physically, but emotionally.

So when I figured out that your relationships with other men were all about sex and nothing else, it seemed like you were ignoring the very reason to _have_ a relationship, in favor of focusing on a factor that barely mattered. That’s how strong the disconnect is between you and me.

When I met Grace, I was still a virgin, and I had never thought it was a big deal. Eventually, she did show me the pleasures of the bedroom, but… ah... it’s not that it wasn’t enjoyable, because with Grace, almost _every_ activity was enjoyable, but the sensations could get... overwhelming. I was far more drawn to a cuddle or a good tickle fight, or the way I’d spend half an hour every Saturday night just brushing her hair and braiding it up so it wouldn’t snarl by morning.

I find it impossible to imagine what the thrill is in making out with someone you don’t care for. Without that emotional intimacy, physical intimacy seems… shallow. Distasteful. That’s why I really don’t like to be touched, unless there’s a bond first.

But the thing is, Mr. Reese… I can picture you and me, skin to skin, without all these layers between us, and it doesn’t feel wrong, or distasteful. The fact that I can go even that far in my head… well, it puts you in a rather exclusive group.

So it comes down to our fundamental incompatibility: I yearn for intimacy in mind and emotions as well as body, while you’re not the type to open up that much to any man. Yet without that intimacy, I have no desire for a sexual relationship, the one thing you’re after. Each of us needs what the other cannot, or will not, give.

Under any normal circumstances, we’d be foolish to risk our friendship trying for a closer relationship that would almost certainly wind up hurting us both. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea, as the saying goes.

That being said… the day I lost Nathan and forced myself to limp away from Grace, I resigned myself to the fact that I will never again allow myself to have a normal relationship. Given our circumstances, it’s an unacceptable risk. I’ve been hanging onto this fiction that I can do just fine without intimacy in my life. Intimacy seemed… optional. A luxury, even.

I no longer consider it optional. That conclusion is what drove me to this conversation.

You and I have been alienated from other human beings for _far_ too long. Humans are biologically programmed to desire closeness. Skin-to-skin contact affects us on a physiological level, and can have a profound impact on health, emotional well-being, even pain relief. I dare say, with all we go through on a regular basis, we could use all of those benefits.

Each time I send you into the field, I’m aware that it may be the day you don’t come back. You and I labor under the most extreme pressures, dangers that have become routine, but can’t help but take their toll. It’s somewhat of a miracle that we’re as stable as we are, and it would be the height of foolishness for us to continue ignoring the need for some balancing force to counteract the trauma.

In consideration of these facts… I can’t see any reason left to avoid a relationship with you. It seems obvious that it would fill a vital need in each of us that, at the moment, we have no other way to provide for. I don’t expect any overtures of romantic interest from you; getting comfortable with your body would be, I must admit, a distinct pleasure. And I imagine that once my mind adjusts to the new arrangement, I won’t be so discomforted by your obvious interest in _my_ body.

I am willing to meet, or at least attempt to meet, whatever physical or sexual desires you find most pressing. Bearing in mind, of course, my physical limitations and, well, a certain aversion to the idea of some of the kinkier… activities. Though I’m willing to experiment -- should it come to that.

That’s… what I’m offering. Not that you are under any compulsion to accept; it simply seemed to me the most effective solution for our respective problems. And of course, if I’ve misjudged the situation, I-- ah… Mr. Reese?

**Author's Note:**

>  **Expanded Topics/Warnings:**  
>  This is a monologue from a person who has made a lot of assumptions about another person's sexual orientation. The assumptions may not be warranted, and the Harold in this fic lacks a certain measure of awareness about how societal censure impacts a person's outward expression of their sexuality (among other facets of their individuality).
> 
> So there's reading between the lines and guessing at someone's orientation. Also, the whole fic is built on seemingly incompatible orientations.
> 
> Harold has seen John looking at him with what Harold interprets as lust, and Harold is deeply uncomfortable being viewed that way. Rather than allowing a dialog, which makes him too anxious, he decides to ask John not to interrupt him, and just gets everything out as quickly and clearly as possible, before allowing John to speak (and perhaps to correct his assumptions).
> 
> As Harold goes into detail on past relationships, he brings up social attitudes toward homosexuality, as well as how people tend to assume homosexuality based on non-standard behavior (the "straight men don't cuddle other men" mindset). Hence why his partner at the time, while accepting the close physical contact between them, told him not to do it where others (even their friends) could see -- to keep it behind closed doors.
> 
> One moment goes into detail on Harold's strong emotional reaction when he was expecting to be rejected.
> 
> Another detail is his loss of virginity, which to him wasn't a big deal one way or the other. He finds the physical sensations of sex to be somewhat overwhelming.
> 
> Finally, Harold sums up the monologue with some idea as to why physical touch / cuddling is beneficial, and asserts that if John is interested in a relationship, he's willing to accept one, even if it means having sex -- he doesn't care so much about the sex himself, but if it's important to John, well, he does want a reciprocal relationship that provides benefit to both parties.
> 
> One factor I could have touched on, but decided to omit, was the discussion of the _morality_ of homosexual relationships. I see no indication that either of these characters has any reason to even consider this a factor for them.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Author's Note:**  
>  I find it at least plausible that Harold could be demi-demi, or demi-het, but I only defined John this way (bi-het) to show a distinct contrast that was actually incompatible, for the purposes of exploring why they might go "You know what? Given everything else going on, I think we ought to go for it anyway." (It's possible this will be the most sexual fanfic I ever write -- not counting rape as "sexual.")
> 
> (I also think Harold is plausible as an Ace or Gray Ace, and would love to see more fics that include that potential characterization. Aces get far too little representation these days; in fact there's only two established asexuals I can think of offhand in popular media, and those are Sheldon from _The Big Bang Theory_ , and Jughead Jones from _Archie Comics_. People are so eager to cram sex into everything that the absence/minimization of a sex drive gets _so_ little press....)
> 
> Exploring a monologue format was quite enjoyable, and I look forward to more experimental formats. Recommendations of good monologue fics would be appreciated, given that I don't think I've actually ever run across one (though I might be mistaken).
> 
> One aspect of this setup that I couldn't manage to fit into the fic but I think is still present in the story: It was Nathan who taught Harold to value other people. Not just the Numbers, but to actually think of people as individuals with intrinsic worth, who merited respect and compassion even when they didn't have anything to offer you on a personal level -- appreciating humans as humans, apart from self-centered concerns of friendship or reciprocal relationships. The reason this Harold gets along with humans and shows affection toward random strangers in the first place is because of the way Nathan so changed his thinking that when he looks back at his pre-college self, he sees a robotic or alien thought process. And Nathan completed the transformation when his actions convinced Harold to not just appreciate humans but care enough about their welfare to sacrifice on their behalf, even if they wouldn't ever know it was him.
> 
> Also, I doubt I'm going to write John's reaction (which I'd imagine would be wordless sensory detail, just for format contrast), so if anyone would like to give that a go, I have no objections ^_^

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Compatible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815177) by [elbowsinsidethedoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/pseuds/elbowsinsidethedoor)
  * [The End Is Near](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850016) by [Tipsylex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsylex/pseuds/Tipsylex)
  * [Incompatible [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984347) by [DesireeArmfeldtPodfic (DesireeArmfeldt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldtPodfic)




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